


Mall Cop Mayhem

by Reign_of_Rayne



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU where everything is fine, Humor, In which nobody takes mall cops seriously, and everyone is sassy, not even the mall cops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reign_of_Rayne/pseuds/Reign_of_Rayne
Summary: When a dumb mistake during a mission lands Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha in a mall detention area, the quartet decides to make things interesting.
Or, everyone has a competition to see who can give the most ridiculous alibi to some security guards that really don't deserve any of this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lisa (yawpkatsi.tumblr.com), who mentioned the quartet in the tags of a post about characters being separated for questioning.
> 
> As a side note, this isn't supposed to make sense if you think about it for longer than it takes you to read it.

It's surprisingly difficult to decide whose fault this is. Steve had been the one to get noticed because of the gun _just_ _barely_ peeking out from his waistband, but Bucky’s perpetually bedraggled appearance calls the wrong kind of attention, Natasha is just Natasha, and Sam had apparently looked far too nice for him to be willing company to those three.

The last part Sam hears from the unfortunate mall security guy currently asking him questions. Sam isn’t even sure what that is supposed to mean; yeah, Bucky has that whole “long hair don’t care” vibe going on but Steve is the paragon of responsible dad fashion. Those have to cancel out. And Natasha can pull off any law-abiding-citizen disguise she damn well pleases at the drop of a hat.  They don't look threatening in a group.  Individually, yes.  Together, less so.

They probably just picked him as the most agreeable. Sam is flattered by that. But not flattered enough to take this situation seriously.

“If there is something keeping you with them—some threat, for instance—please, tell us. We will be able to keep you safe.”

Sam has to try very hard not to laugh out loud. Two things are wrong with that plea: one, that there is a threat; two, that the police will be able to do anything about it if there is.

Because really. He is with a super soldier, a super spy, and a man that is technically both of those _and_ part robot to boot.

He could tell the truth. That is always an option, as his mama used to say. The problem with that is that Sam doesn’t think the mention of the secret HYDRA outpost hidden in the local Victoria’s Secret is going to get him anywhere he wants to go. In light of that fact, he begins to concoct a slightly more plausible story. The odds of him, Steve, Bucky, and Natasha using the same story? Almost none. But Sam knows that Tony can bail them out if things get bad, and he might as well give the guard a fun story to tell later. 

Basically, he just has to kill time until Tony can intervene.  The others have most likely figured that out too.

The unfortunate man wastes another minute waiting for Sam to speak up. When Sam doesn’t, he chews his lip.

“Okay, well. If you—“

Sam raises an eyebrow. The guard fumbles, recovers.

“If you could just give us a statement—“

“My story,” Sam clarifies. “You wanna know why we were here today.”

“Yes.” He actually looks relieved. “Please.”

Here it is. His moment. Cracking his knuckles would be too much, so Sam settles for a casual tone and innocent expression.

“We were gonna do a flash mob.”

God help him, it takes all of his willpower to avoid laughing at the guard’s helpless expression.

“What?”

 

 

“A dance recital,” Bucky repeats, keeping his arms crossed and leveling the guy responsible for questioning him with a cool glare. “We were on our way to my friend’s cousin’s daughter’s dog’s sitter’s mother’s friend’s son’s dance recital.”

The sap is actually trying to write it down. “Friend’s…cousin’s…dog’s—“

“Daughter’s,” Bucky corrects, using the tone of someone who believes he has somewhere far more important to be.

He should not be enjoying this as much as he is.

**_  
_ **

 

“Come again?” The guard asks, and Natasha gives him her most earnest look.  This is by far the dumbest story she's ever concocted, but given the circumstances and the fact that she's been deprived of fun for the past three days (missions, missions, and more missions), she feels that she can have a pass.

“We’re hunting for treasure.”

“Treasure.”

“You see, my granddad has this map—“ she lowers her voice to a whisper, forcing the guy to lean in close—“and it points to one of the stores in this very location, and we wanted to be here first.”

“And you needed weapons for this?”

She makes her eyes go wide. “What weapons?”

**_  
_ **

 

“I find the flash mob a little hard to understand.”

Sam rolls his eyes in the most dramatic way possible. “Listen, man, there is nothing difficult to understand about a flash mob.  Say, you got a clock? What time is it?”

The guy checks his watch. “It’s three.”

Sam grins.  "It's time!"  He jumps to his feet, already launching into a random dance move.  He picks a song at random and begins belting out the lyrics.

 

 

“—see, if you take a right here and then go down this access stairwell—“

“There’s nothing there but storage, ma’am,” the guard says. Natasha rolls her eyes at him.

“That’s what they _want_ you to think. Now, if you just—“

**_  
_ **

 

“No, it’s sitter’s mother’s friend’s. Not friend’s mother’s. That would make no sense.”

 

 

_“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down—“_

**_  
_ **

 

“We caught you carrying a loaded weapon in a space where those are prohibited.”

The guard thunks the pistol down onto the table. Steve raises an eyebrow at it. “Weapon? I think that’s an exaggeration.”

“Son,” the guard says, the gray hairs in his gristly beard shifting every time he opens his mouth, “there isn’t any exaggeration going on here except yours with the truth.”

Steve takes a second to figure out that sentence and then another one to keep from pointing out his actual identity and the fact that he should be the one calling the guard “son.”

“Well you see, sir,” Steve says, “we were on our way to a costume party.”

Bucky used to call Steve a terrible liar; something about Steve always "flying by the seat of his pants."  Steve can see what he meant as the guard snorts. “Sure you were.”

“Really. We were taking a shortcut through the mall. That isn’t even a real gun. It’s plastic.”

It clearly wasn’t.

“We just painted over the orange tip with black paint.”

Definitely no painted tip.

“And the bullets are actually just foam darts.”

Not even close.

“Are you kidding me?” The guard asks.

Steve smiles at him and shrugs.

**_  
_ **

 

“Swan Lake,” Bucky says with a short nod of his head. “They’re performing Swan Lake.”

The guard takes a long, deep breath. “And just where, exactly, are they performing this?”

“Why, it’s pretty near here.”

“I need specifics.”

This time, Bucky lets the grin show.  He takes a deep breath and then says, “It’s being performed at my friend’s grandfather’s uncle’s niece’s friend’s son’s acquaintance’s father’s aunt’s wife’s daughter’s friend’s father’s theater.”

**_  
_ **

 

_“—ver gonna run around and desert you—”_

 

 

“The shield is from a museum gift shop,” Steve says while wondering where they had gotten an evidence bag _that_ large.

“A gift shop.”

The shield is, without a doubt, metal. The straps are worn with use. The design bears many signs of wear and tear all over its surface.

Steve nods. “A gift shop.”

The guard works his jaw. “And your name is…”

“Teven Rant O’Gers,” Steve says. And smiles.

**_  
_ **

 

“Left here, and then straight down four meters until you hit bedrock—”

“Ma’am—“

“This is where it gets tricky, so listen closely. Take out your death ray and—”

**_  
_ **

 

_“Never gonna tell a lie and huuuurt you.”_

Sam finishes with a flourish. He’s actually sweating, his shirt sticking to his chest and back, his breath coming hard and fast. The guard is just staring, having given up trying to stop Sam after the second chorus.

Before Sam can say anything—or launch into his next musical number—someone opens the door. The guard stands, looking relieved.

“Yes?”

“Uh, Tony Stark is on the phone, sir.”

“Tony Stark?”

“Yes, sir. He says it’s urgent.”

The guard glances back at Sam. Sam winks.

The guard leaves.

 

 

“You sang at them?” Bucky says, and Sam grins at the disbelief in his tone.

“Excuse you, I have an excellent singing voice."  He draws up to his full height.  " _Never gonna—_ ”

“Don’t,” Natasha says, cutting off the song before Sam can really get into it. “In any case, we were really just wasting time.” She shrugs. “So I took them on an imaginary treasure hunt.”

“I told them about a dance recital,” Bucky admits when they turn to him. “By the end I was describing who made the shoes the dancers wore and my connections to them going back two hundred years.”

“My treasure hunt was better.”

“No it wasn't. But what was the treasure?”

“Why don’t we focus on the mission,” Steve suggests, but Sam turns on him.

“Oh no, we haven’t heard _your_ excuse yet, Mr. I-Got-Noticed-And-Got-Us-All-Caught-So-Tony-Moneypants-Stark-Had-To-Bail-Us-Out.”

“I feel like that’s too long,” Bucky mutters.

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve replies. “Unlike you three, I don’t have a propensity for the ridiculous.”

Bucky laughs out loud.


End file.
